


The Case of Practical Application

by EbonyKnight



Series: The Adventures of Greg and Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight
Summary: Sherlock makes Greg angry but application of a technique picked up from Mary soon has things sorted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock or anything associated. No offence is intended by the writing of this fanfiction. 
> 
> Kindly beta'd by the wonderful RomanyWalker.

Greg stormed into his flat, letting the door slam loudly behind him. Fuming, he threw his keys onto the table by the door and made straight for the fridge, where his precious supply of London Pride was stashed. The first mouthful calmed his temper from ‘volcanic’ to merely ‘furious’, and the second saw the end of the furious pounding of blood in his ears. 

He stalked into the living room, not bothering to open the curtains or turn on the light, and dropped onto the worn sofa with his bottle and a frustrated huff. Barely thirty seconds later he heard the tell-tale scratching of lock picks followed by the decisive click of his front door lock, and the door creaked open. 

“Fuck off, Sherlock!” he shouted, feeling his temper rise rapidly again.

“Really, Lestrade,” the other man replied, closing the door, “I don’t understand what you’re unhappy about; the phone was out in the open, and we wouldn’t have been able to prove it was Lord Rowbotham without it.”

The light came on and Greg turned his head, eyes tracking his unwanted guest into the kitchen, where he could hear him helping himself to beer. Anger spiking again, he launched himself from the sofa. “One, the phone wasn’t out in the open; it was in his sodding pocket,” he snapped, snatching the barely touched bottle from Sherlock’s hand and drinking half of it in one go. “Two, there were other ways, _legal ___ways, of getting to Rowbotham that didn’t involve stealing a mobile phone from a senior member of the government. Three, you don’t even like beer, so piss off.”

Sherlock snorted contemptuously and helped himself to another beer, ignoring Greg’s snarled protest. “You know as well as I do that getting permission to confiscate the phone of an MP, a Secretary of State, no less, to prove that he murdered those prostitutes would be impossible.”

“Do you have any idea how much trouble I’m going to be in over this? Did you even think about that?” Greg thundered. “We can’t even use the evidence on the phone, no matter how good, because you sodding nicked it! It’s inadmissible in court!”

Sherlock made a dismissive motion with his hand, as though batting Greg’s concerns away like an annoying fly, and leaned around the older man to open the double cupboard behind him and peer inside. “I spoke to Mycroft when it became clear who the murderer was; the Security Service has been aware of his activities for several months but have been unable to catch him. They're much less concerned with how admissible the evidence is, and I've been assured that it will all be handled without a blemish on your record.” Sherlock closed the cupboard and went to open the freezer. “Do you ever have any proper food in this kitchen?” he asked, seemingly unaffected by Greg’s ire.

Greg ignored the other man’s question, too angry at the Holmesian interference in yet another of his cases to pay it any heed, and slammed the freezer door shut. “Oh, right; big brother can fix it for you, so you can do what you want, right, Sherlock? What are you going to do when Mycroft can’t—”

His rant, however, rant came to a swift halt when Sherlock stepped forward and kissed him. _Kissed him_. Before he knew which way was up, Sherlock had him pressed against the counter, with his left hand wrapped around the back of Greg’s neck holding him still, and Greg had his hands twined in the other man’s hair. 

The kiss, like many of Greg’s interactions with the world’s only consulting detective, was intense and over before he quite knew what had happened. Sherlock was, apparently, a damned good kisser and Greg was left dazed, propped against his own kitchen worktop when Sherlock swanned off into the living room and sat down as though nothing of note had happened.

Greg pulled himself together when he heard Sherlock calling in a takeaway order, and followed the other man into the living room. “What on _earth_ was that all about?” he asked as soon as his visitor had finished ordering their dinner, hoping he didn’t sound as bewildered as he felt. In the years that he had known Sherlock, there had never been any hint that he was attracted to anyone, let alone a greying policeman in his fifties with a newly-dodgy back and mortgage that he would probably be paying off well into his retirement. 

Sherlock smirked his most infuriating smirk as a still-stunned Greg dropped heavily onto the other end of the sofa. “It’s a technique I saw Mary use on John last week. I wouldn’t have thought it so effective, but she is a very clever woman, obviously,” he replied, clearly pleased with himself. 

“What do you mean, a technique Mary used on John last week?” Greg was thoroughly confused and not at all convinced that they were having the same conversation.

The other man’s pleased smirk widened. “John was being tedious about where she stores her throwing knives; she kissed him and it shut him up quicker than any technique I've ever tried. Obviously not something I can use on John, because he’s John, but it clearly works well on you, too.”

It took Greg a moment to process the fact that Sherlock thought kissing him a good way to shut him up, but when he did he felt something flutter in his chest. He wasn’t blind and knew that his friend was gorgeous, but his attraction to men wasn’t something he often acted on, even after he had divorced his wife; keeping his bisexuality closeted was a habit he had acquired quickly in his teens, and he certainly hadn’t had that kind of discussion with Sherlock.

“Why would you even think it was a good idea to kiss me?” he demanded, running a hand through his hair. He saw Sherlock’s eyes tracking the movement and felt himself flush. “A lot of blokes would have punched you in the mouth for that,” he continued, hoping to distract Sherlock from his obvious nerves. A curious mix of hope and desire was rising in his chest now that he knew that Sherlock, however unlikely, appeared to be attracted to him. Or at least considered him a worthy candidate for kissing.

Sherlock snorted and leant forward, capturing the hand that Greg had run through his hair and studying his palm. “You’re bisexual with a preference for men taller than you with dark hair; that much, you have made obvious over the years,” he said blithely. He released Greg’s hand, but did nothing to increase the distance between them. Greg didn’t even think to question how Sherlock had worked that out, another quickly-acquired habit, and felt his heart speed up. Sherlock continued, “I fit that description, clearly. You weren’t scared off by Mycroft at the beginning of our acquaintance; you’ve even managed to become one of his few _friends_ . You have seen and aided me at my worst, and, despite that, have chosen to spend significant amounts of your free time with me since my return from dismantling Moriarty’s network.”

As Sherlock rambled on, Greg realised that the other man was nervous and couldn’t help but smile. It had taken a few years before he’d learnt to recognise the signs, but Sherlock was giving a wonderful display of some of them in that moment; his eyes were fixed on Greg’s face but he was not looking him in the eye, his shoulders were stiff but the rest of him was determinedly relaxed, and his left foot was twitching ever so slightly where it was propped up on his knee.

Throwing caution to the wind, Greg leant forward and cupped Sherlock’s cheek with his right hand. “Sherlock,” he said, causing his hopefully soon-to-be lover to stop his monologue, “shut up.” With that, he closed the distance between them and kissed him.


End file.
